


Incredibly Screwed

by dramioneaudiofics



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Baked Goods, Baking, Banter, Canon Compliant, Curvy Hermione Granger, Dirty Talk, Enthusiastic Consent, Explicit Sexual Content, F/M, Fluff and Angst, Fluff and Smut, Hogwarts Sixth Year, Hurt/Comfort, Kitchen Sex, POV Draco Malfoy, Pining Draco Malfoy, Porn With Plot, Praise Kink, Sex Positive, Table Sex
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-11-15
Updated: 2020-11-15
Packaged: 2021-03-09 20:02:14
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 11,629
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27571966
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/dramioneaudiofics/pseuds/dramioneaudiofics
Summary: Draco stumbles upon Hermione alone, in the kitchens of Hogwarts, singing and baking pie. Whipped cream is involved, as is hot hot kitchen sex with enthusiastic consent.
Relationships: Hermione Granger/Draco Malfoy
Comments: 9
Kudos: 254
Collections: Pumpkin Spice Fic Fest





	Incredibly Screwed

**Author's Note:**

  * In response to a prompt by Anonymous in the [PSpiceFicFest](https://archiveofourown.org/collections/PSpiceFicFest) collection. 



> **Prompt:**
> 
> Frosty morning stroll - Pumpkin pie
> 
> I took liberties with the prompt here and made it a frosty *evening* stroll! ShaeMyss beta'd this work for me and they improved by at least 100%!!! I thank them profusely for their patience in editing such a long first work.

_Gods, Scotland’s cold in November_ , Draco thought as he trudged around the Black Lake while the sun dipped below the mountains. He could already feel the frost forming and crunching beneath his dragonhide boots. The fog of his breath surrounded his face like a momentary Bubble-Head Charm before it faded, and it returned with his next exhale. When he was younger, before he started at Hogwarts, he had thought Wiltshire was frigid. Nothing compared to the Scottish Highlands when winter was around the corner, except for the winter itself.

Draco was exhausted. He had been working on that damn cabinet all day until his hands and forearms were covered in silvery white scars from constantly healing the cuts and welts the work inflicted. He suspected that the Dark object required a literal “pound of flesh” from him in order to accept his repairs. It was agonizing, but he had no choice. The Dark Lord had made it exceedingly clear what would happen to Draco and his parents if he did not succeed. He had even been generous enough to show Draco a sliver of what he could expect in the event that he failed by casting a Crucio on Draco and his mother in front of the rest of the Death Eaters. Draco had tried to shield his mother from the Unforgivable, but Bellatrix flicked her wand at him in a way that would have seemed indifferent if it hadn't been so fast, freezing him in place with a Body-Bind Curse before standing behind him and cackling in his ear while his mother screamed.

He shivered violently as he relived the memory, even though he had been numb to the cold for an hour. He had to save his mother. His father was in Azkaban and far out of favor with the Dark Lord. If there was any hope for the Malfoys to come out of this alive, it was up to Draco to fix the Vanishing Cabinet and kill Dumbledore. 

Once his body had passed the threshold from pain to numbness from the cold, he had been relieved. It was one of the only times that the deep ache in Draco’s left arm was dulled to something bearable. The Dark Mark was supposed to be an honor, a privilege given only to those closest to the Dark Lord. Draco knew that in his case, the Mark was a torture device. The Dark Lord had used his incredibly powerful Legilimency on Draco innumerable times and had discovered many of his weaknesses, including his ambivalent dedication to the cause and his terrified conviction that he and his mother would be killed. Voldemort knew that giving the Mark to Draco would cause him excruciating pain as long as he was fearful and conflicted.

Draco, though, was a natural Occlumens, for which he was grateful beyond words. Snape, his godfather, had helped him hone the skill to protect the one secret he could never let Voldemort discover. When he visualized his mind, he saw it as a frozen lake. Some of his thoughts and memories could be easily seen on its shores, or even on top of the thick layers of the ice itself, and those were readily available for the Dark Lord's incessant searching. Others, the ones he held closest to himself, the ones he dared not speak aloud even while alone, remained beneath the impenetrable ice. Secrets about _her_ . Well, it wasn’t so much that he knew secrets about her… She _was_ the secret. Or, more accurately, how he felt _about_ her. 

He had been watching her for years. As he observed her repeatedly best him in every class for the last five years, he had eventually--and _very_ begrudgingly--acknowledged her remarkable intelligence. Her glaringly obvious brilliance and magical power gave him pause: had his father somehow got it wrong about her kind?

Over the years, he saw her grow from a swotty, bushy-haired, buck-toothed pre-teen into a swotty, somewhat less bushy-haired, normal-toothed, fairly attractive young woman. She was decent looking. He guessed some people might call her good-looking. Fine, she was bloody gorgeous at this point. He remembered the moment he saw Krum leading her into the Great Hall at the Yule Ball. He could have sworn that his heart momentarily stalled before stuttering to life again seconds after. It was all he could do not to gape openly as she passed. The rest of that evening, he found his eyes following the flash of periwinkle wherever it went, much to Pansy’s irritation. Draco really only maintained the barest semblance of a relationship with her to keep up appearances among the Slytherins, but it seemed that Pansy had made it her mission in life to get a marriage contract out of him. 

Draco had quietly distanced himself from his friends and Pansy since the start of the year. He wondered if Theo Nott Sr. had told his son about Draco’s task, because all the rest of the Slytherins in his year allowed him a wider berth than the years previous and never asked where he had gone off to when he disappeared for hours. _Thank Merlin for small mercies_ , Draco thought. 

It had been full dark for an hour before Draco forced his frozen body back towards the castle. He was not looking forward to the pins-and-needles sensation of warmth returning to his skin, muscles, and bones. Clad in all black from his knit cap to his boots, he stiffly entered the castle, marveling at the blessed quiet. _Why was it so quiet?_ Draco searched his recent memory as he stalled in the entryway, finally recalling that it was a Hogsmeade weekend, and a Saturday at that. Of course, everybody who did not have the Dark Lord occupying their home and thoughts every moment of the day would be gallivanting around the shops with their mates, warming up with Butterbeer or contraband Firewhiskey. 

Draco allowed himself one moment to drop his head, compromising his usually perfect posture – his mother would _never_ let him hear the end of it if she had seen – and let out an exhausted sigh at his hopeless situation. Then, he straightened to his full height, slid his mask of haughty indifference into place, and began walking towards the dungeons. 

As he walked through the empty corridors, he heard the clack of his steps reverberating off the walls. His pace was even, predictable, monotonous. The repetitive sound soothed his troubled mind like a balm. He walked, trance-like, as he let his legs carry him on the familiar path to the dungeons. As he neared the kitchens, he became aware of a new sound. A voice. Singing. Was there somebody in the kitchen? It didn’t sound like an elf’s voice, and it would be late for any of them to be in the kitchen anyway; and in fact, it sounded oddly familiar. His pace slowed as he got closer to the painting that disguised the kitchen’s entrance, noticing that a sliver of golden light was visible just behind the right side of the frame. 

_“Thunder only happens when it’s rainin’..._

_Players only love you when they’re playin’...”_

He heard the voice singing this wistful melody softly, still slightly muffled by the mostly closed portrait. On top of that, a delicious aroma of cinnamon, cloves, and nutmeg began to permeate his senses. The scent and sound got stronger the closer he got to the portrait. He briefly considered just continuing to the Slytherin dorms, but he was far too intrigued to turn away now. He checked his surroundings to ensure no one would catch him unawares before he brought his face to the space between the wall and the portrait. He closed one eye to sharpen his sight as the gap was not large enough for both eyes to see into. Nothing could have prepared him for what – or rather, who – he saw in the kitchen. 

_“Say women they will come and they will go…_

_When the rain washes you clean you’ll know… You’ll know…”_

He knew her the instant his eye caught the bronze frizz of her mane which was haphazardly gathered at the crown of her head and held in place with her wand. Her back was to him and he took the opportunity to really look at her, unabashedly, for the first time. His eyes took her in slowly, following a path from the absurd curls piled atop her head, down her back, over the curve of her – _dare he say, delectable –_ bum to her trainer-shod feet, cherishing every detail as he was sure he would never be allowed to observe her like this again. She had a slight sheen of sweat on the back of her neck where some of her curls had sprung free and stuck haphazardly to her olive skin. He longed to touch her hair, to wrap one of those wayward curls around his finger. She was wearing a Gryffindor red jumper, of course, with the sleeves pushed up above her elbows. The fabric left a fair bit to Draco’s suddenly active imagination, but still revealed much more to his eye than her usual bulky uniform robes.

He turned to survey his surroundings again before deciding to slowly and carefully widen the gap he was staring through. If he was going to do this, he was going to do it with both eyes, sod the consequences. He resumed his perusal, eyes instantly drawn to her swaying hips and arse in what he knew to be Muggle denim trousers. His pants felt uncomfortably tight all of a sudden. He wished he could personally thank the Muggle who invented those denims. They clung to her luscious arse and thighs before flaring out slightly at the knee and ending at her ankles. On her feet, she was wearing a pair of well-worn white trainers. What in Merlin’s name was Granger doing alone, _singing_ , in the Hogwarts kitchens _past curfew_ and on a Hogsmeade weekend? He finally looked past her to see what was occupying her attention. She was standing in front of a long, wooden table at waist height that had shelves underneath it, holding all manner of kitchen utensils, pots, and pans. He could see that she was slightly hunched over and moving back and forth over the table with her arms pushing something. 

Draco was utterly perplexed. He had never seen anybody other than an elf in a kitchen. Could Granger be cooking something? She likely knew how, being a Mud–Muggleborn. The heavenly scent that continued to float into his nostrils made him think that was the case. He noticed that there was a bowl to her left with some kind of metal utensil in it charmed to stir continually. And she was singing. _Granger_ was singing, and he was taken aback by the quality of her voice. She sounded soft and strong at the same time, her voice effortlessly carrying the melody as she sang.

Without thinking, Draco found himself opening the portrait more fully and stepping into the kitchen, carefully pulling it closed behind him. If anyone had asked him later, he would say that he had no recollection of making the choice to speak. The words had simply left his mouth without his approval. 

“I didn’t know you could sing, Granger,” he said quietly. 

She jumped, emitting a panicked squeak, then immediately turned, pulling her wand from her hair as she did so and leveling it on him in one smooth movement. When she saw him, she exclaimed, “Merlin’s pants--Malfoy!?” 

“Who knew that Gryffindor’s straight-laced princess had a foul mouth!” he chuckled, genuinely amused at her response, raising his hands in front of him in a gesture of surrender. 

“What on earth are you doing here?” She glanced around him, clearly expecting him to have his goons with him. He noticed that the front of her red jumper was splotchy with patches of white powder clinging to it. 

“I think the more appropriate question to ask, Granger, is what are _you_ doing _here_ in the kitchens, and after curfew, no less? Never pegged you for a rule breaker,” he said, putting his hands in his pockets and subtly readjusting himself. This made it easier to assume a casual pose, which he immediately affected, despite the thrill of nervousness going through him at her proximity and the fact that they were alone.

~~~Hermione POV~~~

Hermione huffed at him indignantly, but could not dispute his logic. Upon seeing that Malfoy was alone and did not appear to mean her bodily harm, she flourished her wand at her hair, which promptly returned to a haphazard bun that she secured by stabbing through it with her wand. Not to be deterred from her task, Hermione turned her back to Malfoy and resumed rolling out her pie dough. 

“Not that it’s any of your business, Malfoy, but I received permission from Professor McGonagall to use the kitchens tonight,” she stated primly. She felt more than saw Malfoy move in a wide berth around her, grabbing a nearby stool and placing it across the table she was working on. He took off his midnight black coat and knitted cap, taking out his wand to send them flying to the wall of the kitchen, hanging themselves up neatly. Clearly he meant to stay and pester her. Biting back her irritation at him interrupting her lovely solo baking time, she said more than asked, “Can I help you with something, Malfoy?” 

“Yes, actually. What are you making? I must admit it smells surprisingly pleasant in here,” Malfoy responded.

Hermione looked up sharply from her rolling pin and straight into his piercing gray eyes. He stared back at her warily, but with more openness than she had ever seen in his face. Who was this person and what did he do with Draco Malfoy? She let go of her rolling pin again, placing her hands on her hips and assessing him with a furrowed brow. He looked tired. Beyond tired – exhausted, or even drained. There were dark blue circles staining the pale skin under his eyes. His hair looked disheveled in a way that she had only ever seen during Quidditch, nothing like his usual perfectly styled locks. His cheeks looked slightly hollowed out; had he lost weight? His lips and hands looked red and chapped with cold. 

As the silence stretched out between them, she saw that his right leg began tapping anxiously against the stool. Malfoy was nervous… around her? She wanted to laugh at the absurdity of the situation, but she knew the butter in her pie dough was warming every second it was left unattended, and Hermione Granger did _not_ make sub-par pie crust. She decided she would go along with it. At least she could use Malfoy’s curiosity about Muggle cooking to plant a seed of doubt in his prattish Pureblood ideology. 

She re-floured her wooden rolling pin and she heard him release a quiet sigh of relief, since he appeared to have passed her test. 

“I am making a pie, Malfoy. A pumpkin pie, to be exact,” she stated neutrally. 

“And you’re making it yourself rather than asking an elf to do it – _why_?” he queried, trying to keep the sarcasm from his voice. 

“Because… I miss my mother,” she said, and her honesty surprised them both. “She makes them every year around this time, and when I was old enough she taught me and we would make them together. Now when I miss her while I’m here, I ask Professor McGonagall for permission to use the kitchens so that I can do this. It might sound silly, but it makes me feel close to her.” 

~~~End Hermione POV~~~

Draco sensed that she did not want to elaborate on that further. He was surprised she had shared such an intimate detail in the first place. He watched as she deftly rolled the wavy circle of dough onto a long cylindrical tool he was not familiar with. She then transferred it to a shallow ceramic dish where she proceeded to press the dough flush to the bottom and sides. She moved confidently and with practiced ease. He was mesmerized by her deft movements and belatedly realized he had let the silence go on too long. His brain scrambled for something clever to say. 

“That song you were singing – was it about the Weasel?” he asked suddenly. _For fuck’s sake_. Why had he said that? He cursed his addled wits and attempted to assume an air of indifference, crossing his arms over his chest and smirking across the table at her. 

She looked up at him sharply, nearly spilling some of the orange liquid from the bowl that had the whisk in it. He saw her quickly collect herself before pouring the liquid into the shallow dish lined with dough, and didn’t miss the blush that had crept into her cheeks.

“What gives you that idea, Malfoy?” she hedged. 

“Everybody knows that you fancy him, Granger. You’ve been mooning over his stupid freckled face for years. But I happened to stumble upon him attempting to suck the soul out of some blonde-haired chit yesterday. I nearly vomited on the spot!” He grimaced and gagged again at the thought. 

He saw Granger’s blush spread down her neck and he swallowed. When he looked back up at her eyes, they were shining with… was that mirth? She raised one hand to her mouth to hold back a laugh, but it broke through anyway. Her laugh was the loveliest sound he had ever heard. It was light and lilting and genuine. He had never been close enough to hear it so clearly and he certainly had never been the one to make her laugh. And he made her laugh at Weasley’s expense? He needed to do it again. 

“I mean, really, Granger – you should be glad you’ve avoided a Dementor’s Kiss from that ginger idiot!” he said, warming considerably to the task at hand. Granger was clutching her sides now and her nose was scrunched up adorably in laughter.

“Gingers,” she choked out between laughs, “don’t have souls!” She collapsed in another fit of laughter. Draco looked at her, utterly bemused at her addition. 

“What’s that, Granger? Weaslebee doesn’t have a soul?” Draco was chuckling now, too, mostly because he had never seen her so _loose_. She always appeared to be in complete control of her faculties. If he was being honest, she seemed to have broomstick up her arse every moment of the day. Seeing her like this was like seeing a unicorn. As her laughter subsided into giggles, she wiped her eyes and took a deep breath. 

“There’s a Muggle saying that gingers don’t have souls,” she explained. “It’s not true at all, but the idea that Ron would suck Lavender’s soul out! Oh… it was just too good. Thank you for that, Malfoy. I really needed a laugh.” She smiled at him, and the smile only served to enhance her features. Her eyes shone and their corners crinkled; her white teeth and pink gums were on display; her cheeks were flushed a delicate rose. _Gods, she really is beautiful..._

_Wait –_ did she just thank him? 

“Er… you’re welcome, Granger,” he said, stuttering slightly before recovering himself, “I’d never pass up an opportunity to insult Weasley.” Her smile faltered slightly and he cursed himself for ruining the moment by reminding her of what he was usually like to her friend group. 

“I know, Malfoy. Your self-serving nature would never allow you to make somebody else feel better without something in it for you,” she remarked bitterly and resumed working on her pie, looking away from him. He wanted to smooth things over, to be the reason she smiled again, but he didn’t know how. This was foreign territory for him. He decided that his best chance was to do the opposite of every instinct. What was the opposite of being self-serving?

“Can I help you with… any of that?” He awkwardly gestured across the messy table she was working at. She looked up at him again with barely contained astonishment. The corner of her mouth twitched. 

“It’s nearly done at this point… but if you’d like I can show you how to crimp the edges of the pie crust so the liquid doesn’t escape while cooking.” She looked him dead in the eye, clearly expecting him to scoff and say he would never stoop so low. Despite his utter embarrassment at the idea of learning something from her, much less a Muggle thing, something in him rose to the challenge in her gaze. 

“Right, then. As long as I am entitled to half of this pie when it’s cooked, I will let you show me how to crimp the edges,” he said, crossing his arms and smirking down at her. Despite the smirk on his face, he desperately hoped that she would accept his conditions.

Hermione rolled her eyes at his audacity, but nodded in acquiescence. “Fine, Malfoy. _If_ your crimping is up to my standards, I will allow you a share of the pie. Now, come here and stand next to me,” she said, the last words more a command than anything else. 

“Bossy swot,” he muttered under his breath before standing to her left, his arm accidentally brushing against hers. He looked down at her from the corner of his eye and caught her sharp inhale and flush. _How very intriguing…_ If he wasn’t mistaken – and he rarely was about these things – Granger had just inhaled a whiff of his cologne. Much more importantly, she had seemed to like it.

Draco was acutely aware of the effect he had on girls, and typically used it to his advantage. They would blush prettily, or else flirt, play with their hair, flutter their eyelashes, or some combination thereof – whatever it took to get his attention. He would never have more than a mild interest in them in terms of dating, but they often had something – some information, rare book, or ability he lacked – that he figured could come in handy later, so he would acknowledge them, compliment them on something, and grace them with one of his more suggestive smirks as they swooned slightly. However, given that he had been assigned what was effectively a suicide mission by the Dark Lord, their insipid attempts at seduction merely drove him spare. Of course, that wasn’t to say he didn’t have certain _needs_. They primarily presented themselves upon waking from dreams of touching soft, olive skin and being surrounded by cinnamon scented curls, dreams that always ended with dark brown eyes dilated with pleasure and making searing contact with his own. When he had these dreams, he woke sweating with his sheets tangled around him, his cock hard and leaking precum, balls drawn up tight to his body and begging for release. It would take no more than a few strokes as he held the image of her eyes in his mind before he would come, moaning her name into his pillow, as the hot, sticky fluid coated his hand and belly. For this reason, he took to casting a Silencing Charm on his bed every night. If anybody heard him say her name in sleep or wakefulness from the confines of his bed, all of his excruciating Occlumency work would be for naught. 

She cleared her throat, clearly discomfited by his nearness and the long stretch of silence between them again. She recovered herself just as he was praying to any god who could hear him that she wouldn’t notice his growing erection.

“So, it’s fairly simple, really. You pinch the pointer and thumb of your left hand and squish the dough between that pinch and the knuckle on your right index finger,” she stated while demonstrating the finger positions with her own lovely hands. Thankfully, she was focusing on them and not on his face because he was utterly captivated by her, especially since he was closer to her than he had ever been. He stood a whole head taller than her, and he found himself leaning more and more over her until his nose nearly brushed the top of her ridiculous curls. He was overwhelmed by the scent of her hair: spicy and musky, so very like the smell of the pie she was making.

Suddenly, she craned her neck to look up crossly at him. “Malfoy, are you paying attention?” she asked, and a brief flash of panic went through him. _Was that too close? Was she uncomfortable?_

“Of course, Granger. I’m just trying to avoid being suffocated by your rather massive hair.” Noticing a potentially dangerous glint in her eyes, he quickly added, “It really has a life of its own,” attempting to soften the insult into a tease. He gave her a small smile rather than his patented sneer. To his relief, she seemed to understand that he was being playful rather than awful since she gave a small giggle. 

“It does, doesn’t it? Anyway, I won’t need it to suffocate you; I’ll strangle you well enough myself if you don’t crimp this pie dough right now!” she declared, biting her lip to hide a smile that was trying to escape. 

He bent down towards the pie, suddenly concerned because he had _not_ been paying attention to what she said and was about to make an absolute fool of himself. He reached out to the rim of the ceramic dish over which some pie dough was hanging loosely and pinched it between his left two fingers, holding it upright and glancing at her just over his shoulder to see if he was even close to doing it right. She bit her lip harder and her nose wrinkled again – he was beginning to feel particularly attached to that facial expression – before letting loose with another peal of laughter. While Draco was inwardly delighted that he had made her laugh again, he remained outwardly indignant. He scowled at her, which only made her laugh harder. _Cheeky witch_. 

“Here, let me show you.” She took pity on him and grabbed both of his hands, arranging his fingers just so on the pie crust and guiding him to pinch the dough between his hands. Her hands were soft with the occasional grit of flour or dough that had yet to be washed off. And they were warm. Very warm. Were hands supposed to be that warm? When she realized that she was still holding both of his hands, she abruptly let go, and asked “Got it?” in a rather clipped voice.

“Sure,” he mumbled as he prodded awkwardly at the dough again, wondering if he could get her to touch his hands again if he did poorly enough on his own. Sure enough, she sighed in exasperation and took up his hands again. 

“No, no, Malfoy. It’s a pinch like _this_ , not a pinch like _that_ ,” she chided him, continuing on along the edge of the pie, helping him crimp the dough halfway round before looking at him archly and saying, “Go on! Surely you’ve got it now.”

Gods above, she was a bossy little thing! He loved that about her. _Easy there,_ he chided himself, _can’t be thinking things like that_. Lusting after a Mud–Muggleborn was one thing to hide. Love was… something entirely forbidden to him. Shaking his head to clear it of that thought, he continued on crimping the dough, doing marginally worse than the part she had helped him with. It didn’t look good, but it didn’t look especially bad either. He glanced at her, looking for approval when he was finished, and he was pleased to see her eyes shining with genuine happiness. 

“Well done, Malfoy! You’ve done a lovely job of keeping the dough intact while pinching it so there are no tears. That takes a gentle but firm hand. I’m impressed,” she said, crossing her arms and looking him up and down appraisingly. Thank Merlin his erection had abated while he was focused on the pie. He felt a blush prickling on his neck at her praise. 

“Did you really expect anything other than excellence from me, Granger?” he said, smirking as he crossed his arms over his chest, which he knew would accentuate his lean arm muscles. This had the desired effect of causing her eyes to flicker down his torso before moving quickly back up to his smirk. He experimentally slipped his tongue out of his mouth and ran it lightly over his lower lip. He watched her eyes track the movement and heard her swallow audibly. _Sweet Circe’s tits_ , he thought in amazement as it dawned on him that Granger was actually attracted to him. 

He had to do something. Say something. He knew he would never again get an opportunity like this with her. But how to do it without scaring her off? He strolled to his stool on the other side of the table, leaning against it casually. He mulled over his prospects while she pulled her wand from her hair again, allowing it to tumble freely over her shoulders and down to the middle of her back. She easily cast a Levitation Charm while she opened the door to one of the kitchen’s ovens, her wand hand elegantly gesturing to maneuver the pie into the oven. When the pie was in the oven, she made quick work of magicking the table clean with her wand and sending the dishes to the sink to clean themselves. Finally, she set a large bowl on the table and Summoned a bottle of cream, which she poured into the bowl along with a sprinkle of sugar and some brown paste. She charmed a whisk to aggressively beat the mixture. 

“Granger, are you angry with that cream?” he drawled, plan finally in place for how he was going to make his move. 

“No, Malfoy,” she said with a long-suffering sigh that contradicted the amusement on her face, “it’s going to be _whipped_ cream. In order to make whipped cream, air has to be aggressively whipped into it with a whisk! That’s what makes it light and fluffy. Back home, my mom makes me do it without magic and my arm aches for days after!” She chuckled to herself, no doubt remembering happy times with her mother. “I do love integrating magic and cooking. In the Muggle world, this pie would take an hour to cook; here, I can count on it being perfectly cooked in ten minutes.” 

“Yes, magic does have its uses, I find,” he said, raising an aristocratic eyebrow. She scoffed at him while she stopped the cream from whipping and dipped her finger in, raising it to her eyes to check its consistency. He could feel his eyes widen and felt like he watched in slow motion as she brought the finger to her mouth, pink tongue flicking out to lick the cream on the tip of her finger. 

“Mmm,” she hummed, closing her eyes at the sweet taste of the whipped cream. “Perfect!” she exclaimed before putting the whole finger into her mouth and swirling her tongue around it, her full lips sucking the digit clean. Draco couldn’t stop a growl of desire from rumbling through his chest at the sight. Her eyes popped open and locked onto his, her finger still in her mouth. She must have seen the raw hunger blazing in his grey eyes, because her eyebrows jumped up in shock and she released the finger with a soft, wet sound. 

Draco hastily looked away from her piercing gaze, cursing himself for ruining his plan. She was clearly terrified of him; she would never let him touch her. He couldn’t get up from the stool because he was painfully hard for the second time in fifteen minutes and he didn’t want to disturb her further. He would just have to awkwardly sit there and wait for her to flee. He watched her shuffle around the table to the oven that the pie was in, levitating it carefully around him and back to the table. He expected her to cast a Cooling Charm on it and run out with it like a Quaffle, but she did something Draco could have never predicted. 

She put her wand down on the table next to the pie. He didn’t dare risk catching her eyes again, so he watched her hand glide along the grain of the wooden tabletop before disappearing behind the bowl of cream. The room was completely still, and the only sound Draco could hear was the thundering of his heartbeat in his ears. His entire body was thrumming with tension and anticipation of what she might do. He looked down at his boots and suddenly, it wasn’t just his shoes in front of him. He could see the laces of her old trainers, the tips of them nearly touching his boots. He slowly raised his head, noting that she was so close their legs were almost touching; he could feel her warmth. When his eyes reached the level of her breasts, his jaw clenched at the sight of them rising and falling rapidly underneath her jumper. She was breathing fast. Was she angry with him? Oh gods, she was going to strangle him. She had warned him earlier. She was clearly confident enough she could do so even without magic; she hadn’t even brought her wand over. _Well,_ he noted grimly _, better to die here by her hand than by that of the Dark Lord._

“Do you want to try this?” she asked in a quiet, husky voice. Draco raised his eyes to hers and saw that she was holding up her finger, smothered in cream, and because he was slouching on the stool, his eyes were almost level with hers. One of her eyebrows was cocked challengingly and her eyes were boring into him with an intensity he wasn’t prepared for. She was going to kill him alright, but it wouldn’t be by strangling him. Almost without his permission, his hand lifted to her wrist and encircled it. He could feel her hand tremble slightly. With agonizing slowness, Draco carefully brought her hand closer to his face, the cream on her finger glossy and white. He stopped when the tip of her finger was hovering in front of his lips. 

He raised a brow slightly, looking down to her finger so near his lips before meeting her eyes again in a silent question. She nodded her assent and he mimicked her earlier move, lapping at just the tip of her finger and gauging her reaction. Her eyes fluttered closed and her mouth dropped open slightly, a delicious blush spreading over her cheeks and down her neck. The cream was sweet on his tongue and he wanted to go back for more. 

“Look at me,” he rasped, his voice thick with want. She obliged him by looking at him through half-lidded eyes. “I want you, Hermione,” he whispered, and never broke eye contact with her as he sucked her finger into his mouth, his tongue gliding along it to collect all the cream before pulling her hand away from his mouth again. 

They stared at each other for several moments that felt like ages to Draco. He didn’t want to risk scaring her off by making any unexpected moves. Quite honestly, he was having a hard time believing that this was happening at all. He thought he might wake abruptly any moment now, covered in sweat, laying in his bed, cock rigid and demanding release. He needed to know that it was real. That she was really there, with him, wanting him back. He had to hear her say it, but the hold he had on his desires was fragile enough that he was convinced it would shatter beyond repair if he asked. 

“I-I want you, too… Draco,” she whispered into the minimal space between them, voice shaking slightly when she said his name. He felt the fingers of the hand he was holding flutter over his chin and land on his cheek. Relief washed over him like a tidal wave and his eyes closed as he leaned into her gentle touch. “Can I--can I kiss you?” he heard her ask hesitantly. His eyes popped open and he released a surprised chuckle. Her expression quickly transformed from captivated to betrayed. She immediately tried to wrench her wrist from his grasp, but his Seeker reflexes were quicker. He tightened his grip and snaked his other arm around her waist, keeping her close. 

“Granger--Hermione, please wait. I was just surprised that you would ask. I thought it was obvious that I wanted to kiss you!” he muttered rapidly into her hair, feeling her whole body radiating tension. 

“Consent is mandatory, Malfoy! It’s always important to ask before engaging in any kind of… physical--intimate--touching!” she huffed into his collar, her hot breath caressing his throat and making him shiver. He was trying hard not to laugh at her affronted tone and their miscommunication. 

“Well, Granger, I appreciate your concern about my consent,” he drawled, leaning back slightly so that he could meet her eyes. “Let me make it very clear for you: I will take whatever you want to give me. If there is anything you do that I don’t like, I will tell you. What about you?” Her brown eyes were wide and the pupils dilated. 

“Right now, I want you to kiss me, Malfoy. Anything after that will need renewed consent from the both of us,” she explained with an arched brow, in the exact swotty tone of voice she used when answering a question in class. It made Draco impossibly harder. He tilted his head slightly and leaned into her far enough that his lips were a hair’s breadth from hers. 

“Merlin’s beard, you are a bossy witch,” he sighed into her mouth before capturing her lips in a searing kiss. He could feel her lips curling into a smile as he molded his lips to hers and he felt her arms encircle his neck, fingers playing with the hair at his nape. He pulled her closer, crushing her against himself with one arm around her waist and the other reaching into her riotous curls. His fingers gripped the hair at the back of her scalp firmly, with just enough pressure to tilt her head back as they deepened the kiss. Her wet, pink tongue boldly lapped at the seam of his lips and he opened for her, his tongue meeting hers with equal fervor. 

He had never snogged anyone as fierce as Hermione. Their tongues battled for dominance with matched passion and heat, devouring each other until his lungs burned for air. Draco pulled back from her briefly to catch his breath while he pushed off from the stool to back her up to the table she had just been working at. She stared up at him with hungry eyes as she placed her palms behind her on the table to lift herself onto its surface. He gripped her hips to assist her and stepped between her spread thighs the moment she was seated. 

_Gods, she’s so soft_ , Draco groaned to himself as their lips met again and his hands drifted to her ( _confirmed – absolutely delectable)_ bum. He dragged his lips from hers, only to resume placing open mouthed kisses all along her jaw. When he reached her earlobe, he drew it into his mouth and nipped it before purring, “Hermione, do I have your consent to touch this unbelievably luscious arse?” She moaned in response and fisted his black jumper, drawing him into her until his covered erection pressed against her core. 

“Draco,” she whined in his ear, bucking against him, “ _please_ , touch me. I need you to touch me.” 

Draco palmed her arse with both hands and squeezed, grinding himself against her core as he did. She made the most erotic sound he had ever heard, a breathy moan that deepened into a groan as she thrust back against him. Her head tipped back and his eyes catalogued her features, desperate to absorb every sound she made, the way she bit her lip and furrowed her brow, her chocolate eyes fluttering as he moved against her. 

She removed her hands from his hair, sliding them down his neck and shoulders, over his chest and torso, landing on the hem of her jumper. Her thighs gripped him as she pulled the garment up and over, only getting slightly caught in her wild tresses before it was off and tossed behind her. 

“Salazar’s rod, Granger…” he rasped, staring down at the sight of her. She was wearing a thin white camisole, revealing the skin of her arms and décolletage; and while that alone was extremely compelling, Draco could not help but stare at her full breasts, which were unencumbered by a bra. The fabric covering them was thin enough that he could see the dusky brown shade of her areolas around her hardened nipples that fairly begged him to suck them. His mouth watered at the thought of laving her breasts with his hot tongue. A giggle startled him from his reverie and he felt Hermione’s fingertips under his jaw, which he belatedly realized was hanging open in an unseemly fashion. 

“See something you like, Malfoy?” she inquired huskily, leaning back on her elbows and looking up at him with glittering eyes and a smirk. _Minx!_ He reached into his pocket for his wand, waving it over her body towards the door to shut and lock it, and quickly cast a Silencing Charm. As he returned his wand to his pocket, he cast a wordless Disillusionment Charm on his left forearm. It might have been selfish, but he couldn’t risk losing the opportunity to be with Granger once before his inevitable death. 

He forced the thought to the back of his mind and turned all of his focus to the witch in front of him. He removed his hands from her arse to bracket her arms and lean over her. She was not daunted by him looming over her with his larger frame; in fact, she met his molten gaze with her own and brazenly wrapped her legs around his hips to grind against him. _If she doesn’t stop that, I’m going to embarrass myself_ , he thought, feeling exquisitely tormented. He pulled his hips away from hers and chuckled at the desperate sound that immediately emerged from the back of her throat. 

“Is there something you want, Granger?” he teased, with a devious smirk and cocked brow. She pouted up at him in a truly adorable way that made him want to bend to her every whim. Her legs struggled to bring him close to her again, to get the friction she needed so badly, but he had much better leverage and held his ground. He brought his mouth close to her ear again, “How do you feel about praise, Hermione? Do you want to be called a good girl?” 

“Gods, yes, Draco… Please,” she whispered breathily. He drew back from her again and looked into her eyes. 

“Good girls ask for what they want, Hermione. You only have to ask,” he prompted her, blood thrumming through his body and into his cock, making him painfully hard. 

“I already asked you to touch me, Draco!” she huffed in frustration at him, rather resembling a cross hedgehog. 

“I’m afraid I’m going to need you to be more specific, love… You know, consent and all,” he quipped as his fingers began trailing up and down her arms in featherlight touches that appeared to be driving her mad. She lay fully back against the table and groaned in exasperation. Then, she grabbed his hands and placed them firmly on her breasts. 

“Malfoy, if you don’t attend to my breasts this instant, I will ensure that you never see them again,” she retaliated cheekily. Draco laughed aloud and set himself to the task of worshipping her exquisite breasts. 

Hermione had filled out in the last year or so. It was mostly undetectable below the billowing uniform robes all students wore, but now he would always know what she looked like underneath them. She was positively lush and soft everywhere he touched. Her breasts filled his hands and then some; he groaned audibly when he discovered this, and she purred in delight at his firm touch. As he kneaded one breast with his left hand, his right began teasing the taught, sensitive peak of the other. He began by lightly pinching the hardened nub, and increased his pressure with her encouraging mewls. 

Draco stared at her all the while, alternating which hand was pinching and which was squeezing until she was writhing on the table under him and providing incredible friction to his excruciatingly hard cock. “What else do you want, Granger?” he asked as he smirked down at her with eyes like molten silver. His voice came out slightly strained and he forced himself to calculate Arithmancy formulas, attempting to tighten the reins on his nearly-obliterated control. 

“Use your mouth on me, Draco… Please,” she nearly begged as she arched under his caresses. His cock twitched in his pants, clearly entreating him to get on with it already, but he would not be rushed. He had inflicted pain on others and himself for so long that it was indescribable to be giving Hermione Granger, of all people, pleasure.

“You’re such a good girl to ask for what you want,” he murmured, as he leaned over her again to kiss her mouth deeply before moving his lips down along her jaw, neck, and finally her breast. He pressed kisses over the thin fabric covering her breasts, getting close but never really touching her nipples. She squirmed frustratedly, gripping his head with both of her hands and tangling her fingers in his hair before attempting to move his head where she wanted it. 

He pulled his head slightly away from her chest and caught her eye with an intense gaze that seemed to pin her to the table. Her breath was coming fast and he could feel her hot breath on his face. He kept eye contact with her as he grabbed one breast firmly in his hand and licked her nipple before taking it into his mouth and sucking hard, dampening the fabric instantly. Hermione’s eyes rolled back and her head dropped down against the table again with a soft thump. He repeated the process with her other nipple, captivated by how clearly he could see her tantalizing breasts through the soaked fabric of her shirt. 

Hermione took advantage of his momentary distraction by sitting upright and pushing him back to give her room to remove the garment before divesting him of his clothing and kissing his neck. This occurred with such rapidity that Draco stood frozen for several moments, unable to shake the fact that he had just been so privileged as to have seen Granger topless. 

Suddenly, he was shirtless as well, and his naked chest was being crushed against hers as she held him with surprising strength in her arms. Her head was resting against his chest, ear to his heart, and long tendrils of her soft curls were tickling his side. _So warm._ Her legs were still wrapped tightly around his hips, and he felt rather like a tree with an adorable creature hanging on to him for dear life. He was shocked at the intimacy of the moment. In all of his prior dalliances, there had never been a moment of closeness like this. He tentatively wrapped his long arms around her shoulders and curled his body towards hers, his chin resting atop her curls. He felt her take in a deep breath and found himself matching her, both of them breathing out at the same time and relaxing further into the… _Hug? Cuddle? Tree adoration?_

Draco felt the constant knot of tension in his body slowly release until it was barely recognizable. He had never felt so safe or peaceful before. _Fuck. I’m in trouble._

Hermione was trembling slightly in his arms and he looked down at her, pushing her hair back from her forehead and holding it in place so it wouldn’t immediately spring back into her eyes. “Are you alright? Do you want to get dressed? Stop?” he inquired softly. She looked up at him with her dark bronze eyes, her expression completely open. He saw that she was still aroused, but also a bit surprised and curious. He tried to keep his expression calm and neutral, not wanting to give away how moved he was by her embrace. 

“No, Draco. I don’t want to stop,” she answered with a small smile, “I--I don’t think I’ve ever wanted somebody so much before.” She quivered again, in what he now recognized as desire, and reached down to palm his length through his trousers. 

He hissed in pleasure and dropped his head back. Any blood that had left his member during their interlude came rushing back in moments. She stroked him more firmly and applied her mouth to his chest, licking, nipping, and sucking her way across it before laving across each of his nipples in turn. He was thrusting into her hand with each stroke when he abruptly stopped her by grabbing her wrist. Breathing heavily, he began counting backwards from 100 in French to stave off his impending release. 

“Are you alright...?” she returned, echoing his earlier question, and he could hear a hint of a smirk in her voice. _The minx knows exactly what she’s doing!_

“Never better, Granger,” he rasped, slowly retreating from the edge of orgasm. “I’ve just set myself to the task of making you come at least twice before I do.” Her eyes flashed up at him and she flushed again at his directness. “Tell me, Hermione,” he said in a husky voice, “when you said to use my mouth on you, did you mean _everywhere?_ ” He dropped her wrist and brought his fingers to the waistband of her denims, dipping in ever so slightly to touch the skin underneath it. 

“Oh yes, Draco,” she replied casually, boldly meeting his eye while she slid the button through the closure and unzipping with agonizing slowness. “I did mean everywhere; since you like specifics though, I want you to eat my pussy.” Draco let loose a stream of obscenities and gripped the edge of the table to steady himself. _She really is going to kill me…_ he thought, both amused and aroused by the idea of dying from whatever pleasure Granger had in mind _._

He hooked his fingers under the hem of her denims and knickers and dragged them forcibly down her legs, completely forgetting that she still had her trainers on. He couldn’t be bothered with them, though, so he shoved the pants around her ankles and got down on his knees in front of the table, ducking his head and popping back up between her thighs. After a moment’s thought, he drew his wand to cast a quick Cushioning Charm under his knees. 

“Just how long do you plan to be down there, Malfoy?” Hermione asked him in an incredulous tone as she caught the incantation. She was leaning back on her elbows again and his heart stalled in his chest at the sight of her naked body splayed out in front of him. He forced his eyes to meet hers before trailing down her luscious lips, elegant neck, heavy breasts sloping down her ribs, rounded belly and curving hips before finally ending up at the apex of her thighs. A thatch of brown curls obscured some of her sex from his view, but he could see that her inner and outer lips were plump and flushed with arousal. Her juices had started to seep into her knickers and he could see the shine of it on her hair and skin. 

He sat back on his heels and straightened up a bit, bracing her generous thighs on his broad shoulders and pushing towards the table and opening her up to his gaze. His breath caught in his throat before he responded to her. He was staring, unblinking, at her mouthwatering pussy when he finally managed to say, “I plan to be here as long as you let me, Granger.” He let his eyes flicker back to hers momentarily before turning his head to kiss and lick each of her inner thighs, getting closer and closer to her vulva until he was finally sucking one outer lip into his mouth. Hermione emitted a keening wail and he repeated the action on the other side before swiping a broad lick through her center. Her hips bucked and he flattened his hands on them, applying gentle pressure to keep them down on the table. 

At first, he avoided her clit and used his lips and tongue and teeth on every other part of her sex. When she couldn’t handle his teasing anymore, she gripped his hair-- _she seems rather fond of that_ \--and ground herself against his face as much as she could with him holding her down. At length, she realized what she had to do to get what she wanted; her sudden cry of “ _Please, Malfoy!”_ caused any inhibitions he may have had left to vanish. He devoured her. He couldn’t get enough of her taste. She was tangy, musky, and undeniably earthy; far superior to whipped cream _or_ pie. He dipped his tongue as far as he could into her channel, lapping up every drop of her arousal while keeping her slick with his saliva. 

He alternated pressures and techniques while tracking which ones made her keen and writhe. She loved when he licked her clit very lightly; she preferred his tongue soft rather than pointed. When he sucked her clit into his mouth and barely scraped his teeth against it, she squeezed his head between her thighs like a vise. He continued to do all of these things, working her higher and higher and then back down again with calm stokes of his tongue on her labia. He applauded his forethought with the Cushioning Charm, as his knees would certainly be aching without it by now. 

“Do you want my fingers, Hermione? Do you want me to fuck you with my fingers while I tongue your clit?” he panted into her folds between licks. 

“ _Yes! Yes, gods, Draco, please!”_ she gasped, gripping his hair so tight it was painful. The sensation sent a jolt of electricity to his erection. He slipped one finger into her drenched core, feeling her muscles clench down on the digit instantly. _Fuck._ After a few languorous strokes in and out of her wet heat, he added another finger and began lightly licking her clit again. He pushed in and out, curling his fingers slightly towards himself, attempting to find the spot inside her that would make her see stars. He knew he had located it when she let out a wail of pleasure. He allowed himself a single smirk before continuing to exploit all of her erogenous zones. 

“ _Oh gods, right there, yes!! Draco, please, please, don’t stop!_ ” she begged him over and over again as she started to clench around his fingers and drawing him closer with her powerful legs. Her whole body arched forcefully on the table and she screamed as she came all over his mouth and hand. He slowed his strokes and uncurled his fingers, not wanting to overstimulate her but still wanting to draw out her orgasm. Meanwhile, he licked up every drop of her essence he could reach. 

When she had enough, she let go of his hair and gently tapped the top of his head to let him know he should stop. He pulled his swollen mouth from her, chin wet with her juices, while he gingerly extracted his fingers. She was breathing like she had just swam the length of the Great Lake, one hand resting on her chest, face red with exertion. She laughed unexpectedly and he lifted an imperious eyebrow at her while she pushed back up to her forearms again. 

“I have _never_ in my life,” she exclaimed, laughing incredulously, “come _so_ fucking hard.” 

She brought herself fully upright before grabbing her wand and sending her shoes, socks, denims, and knickers to fold themselves neatly with her other clothing next to Draco’s overcoat. Draco grabbed the table edge and pulled himself up, lips caught between a grin and smirk. Hermione grabbed his wrist and brought his fingers, coated in her essence, close to her mouth in an exact replication of his earlier gesture. Her eyes were scorching as she met his and her tongue flicked out to taste herself on him. Draco gulped audibly and watched her take both of his long fingers all the way into her mouth, straight to the back of her throat, while she licked his fingers clean. She slowly pulled his fingers from her mouth, hollowing her cheeks as she sucked them before releasing them with a pop. 

“Granger, I have to ask you something,” he intoned seriously. “Are you trying to kill me?” 

She laughed aloud at that and smacked him playfully on the chest. “Of course not, Malfoy,” she replied innocently, trailing her hand from his chest to his belt. “At least, not before you fuck me with this deliciously hard cock of yours. It would be such a waste to kill you before then, don’t you think?” she asked playfully, as she began undoing his belt and trousers. She shimmied his pants and trousers off his lean hips and let them drop to the floor. His cock lightly bounced off of his abdomen before resting lightly against it. He had been leaking precum for 45 minutes straight at this point, and the head of his cock glistened with the evidence. He looked at Hermione and found she was staring down at his sizable erection. While Draco had not seen many erect penises in his life, he did think that his own was quite nice. Stately, even. A little longer and thicker than the average, slightly darker in color than the rest of his pale skin, the head proportionate and flared in a way that tended to hit all the right spots. He saw the tip of her tongue peek out and wet her lips, which made his cock twitch in response. 

She looked up at him and he was taken aback by the rekindled flame in her eyes. She looked...hungry. He had been thinking of himself as the hunter, but the way she looked at him made him feel distinctly like prey. For her to want him as much as he wanted her… It was everything he ever dreamed of, but had never deigned to hope for. 

He abruptly stopped thinking as her fingers firmly wrapped around his length. His knees almost buckled at the feeling of her soft hand gripping and leisurely stroking him. She made to get off the table, but he held her by the shoulders. 

“Hermione, I’m not going to last if you put your mouth on me,” he said frankly. She pouted at him but wiggled her bum back onto the table. 

“Fine, but if you last until I come again then I get to finish you with my mouth,” she negotiated like the smart-arse she was. He laughed and acquiesced to her demand with a nod. He bent down to quickly remove his shoes and pants, but he removed his wand to quickly cast contraception and anti-infection charms on himself. Hermione did the same with her wand before placing it next to her hip. 

“Are you planning to hex me mid-coitus, Granger?” he asked, eyeing her wand suspiciously. 

“Oh, Malfoy, you’ve always been so overly dramatic,” she sighed and shook her head at him in mock disappointment. “Wands are good for more than just hexing. Trust me.” He rolled his eyes at her in an obnoxious way before quieting her with a ferocious kiss. 

She instantly melted in his arms, letting him lay her back on the table while he snogged her senseless. He felt his length brush against her drenched center and they both moaned at the sensation. He stroked between her labia, clipping her sensitive clit on every thrust. Her whimpers of pleasure were driving him wild; he simply couldn’t hold out any longer. His cock suitably slicked with their combined arousal, he lined himself up at her entrance. 

He looked back up at her face, wanting to cement in his mind the look on her face when he pushed into her for the first time. He had bracketed her torso with his arms again and he lowered his torso down so their chests brushed with each heavy breath. She looped her arms around his neck and played with the hair at his nape, tugging it slightly while lifting her hips. The head of his cock slipped into her tight, wet heat and he was certain he actually _had_ died for a moment, the pleasure was so intense. He continued inching forward into her, savoring the way her body pulled him into hers. When he bottomed out inside her, he dropped his forehead onto her breast, breathing deeply. He felt a sense of wholeness being inside of her while she surrounded him. His eyes suddenly pricked as he realized he would never have this again. _I’m beyond fortunate to have had it at all_ , he reminded himself. She caressed his shoulders and ran her fingers as far down his back as she could reach. He shuddered slightly before looking back up at her with clear eyes to see if she was ready for him to move. 

“ _Please, Draco…_ ” she whispered and gripped his shoulders tightly. Who was he to deny her? He pulled out until only the tip of him was inside of her again before thrusting back inside of her with more force this time. He established a slow rhythm while he kissed her, one hand coming off the table to play with her breasts and tease her nipples. She gasped his name again and again and he tried desperately to affix the exact cadence and tone of her voice to his memory. 

He lost himself in her. He buried himself in her all-encompassing warmth over and over again. He murmured praise in her ear that he couldn’t stop from spilling from his lips. 

“You’re so beautiful, Hermione, so soft… Gods, do you know what you do to me? You’re everything… So perfect… You feel incredible around me, so hot and tight… Never want to stop _…_ ” 

Hermione was holding him as if she was the only thing keeping him from flying apart, and in that moment, he wanted to give her everything. All of himself. He wanted to tell her every devastating thing that had happened to him in the past year. He needed her. Now that he knew what it was like to have had her, he would always need her. He would shatter without her. _How did it come to this?_

She cupped his face in her hands suddenly and peered deeply into his eyes. He knew that he was flayed open, raw and desperate-looking. 

“It’s alright, Draco…” she breathed, brushing his damp hair back from his forehead. “Take what you need from me.” 

He bent his head to the juncture of her neck and shoulder and bit down on her pulse point hard enough to leave a mark before sucking hard. She groaned into his ear and held his head to her neck possessively. Draco’s hand left her breast to hitch her leg up and into the crook of his arm, spreading her open under him and pounding into her with abandon. 

“Yes _, yes, please…_ Like that, Draco _… Gods,_ that’s so deep _. Fuck,_ harder _, please…”_ she was gasping and dragging her nails down his back, which was dripping with sweat. He fisted his other hand in her curls and was consumed by her spicy, musky scent, the feel of her soft, slick body under him, taking everything he was giving her. 

Without warning, Draco’s entire body tensed and he felt his cock get impossibly hard before he came deep inside her cunt. Waves of pleasure crashed over him as his seed coated her walls and began dripping from her. He stopped thrusting when he had fully emptied himself inside her, keeping them intimately connected as he came back to himself. He had nearly collapsed on top of her, barely managing to keep his full weight off her body by bracing himself on one forearm. He panted into her neck and when he opened his eyes all he could see were her unruly bronze curls. 

He pulled back and looked down at her face which was flushed and had a sheen of sweat that made her glow, and her wild hair was spread out all around her like a halo. Draco had never seen anything so beautiful in his life. 

“Looks like you outlasted me, Granger,” he muttered apologetically, smiling down at her. She flashed him a cheeky wink before grabbing her wand and muttering an incantation under her breath. He heard a buzzing sound and looked around in surprise before she flourished her wand next to his ear and he realized the noise was coming from _it_ . She slid the wand between their bodies and closed her eyes in ecstasy. He was still fairly hard inside her and he felt her muscles squeeze as she began to undulate against him and the wand. _Merlin, but she’s full of surprises,_ he thought as he watched her get herself off under him. 

“Talk to me, Draco,” she whimpered. He smirked and leaned down to put his mouth to her ear again. 

“I’ve never come that hard before, either, Granger…” he began in a low, seductive tone. “I’ve never felt anything as good as being with you. You’re so fucking beautiful and you taste better than I ever imagined…” He licked her earlobe lightly and she moaned. “I love that my come is inside you right now, that you’re going to come on my cock with that ingenious little wand trick of yours… You’re such a good girl.” He sucked on her neck again where he had already given her a massive love bite and she came with a shout. 

She went limp beneath him and removed her wand, casting a Finite Incantatum to stop the vibration. His softened member slipped out of her and he stood, wrapping his arms around her and bringing her upright into another embrace. After a few minutes of quiet, Hermione looked up at him a little shyly. 

“What--um… What happens now?” she asked, shivering a little as her sweat cooled on her skin. Draco tilted his head, considering. 

“Well, first, we should get dressed, Granger,” he stated firmly, reaching for his trousers and wand so he could summon her clothing from across the room. “Then, I believe I am owed half of a pumpkin pie.” Right on cue, his stomach growled loudly and Hermione ducked her head into her jumper to hide a smile. 

They ate their pie in relative silence, across the table from each other. Hermione had piled her hair back on top of her head; it had doubled in size throughout their time together. Draco’s appetite was poor on his best days, but he found himself hungry for seconds and thirds of Hermione’s pumpkin pie. It was scrumptious, of course; she excelled in everything she did. When they finished, she sent the dishes to clean themselves and Draco shrugged on his coat. He held his knit cap in his hand, worrying the threads with his fingers while he stood by the door. 

After Hermione set the kitchen to rights, she walked towards him and stopped directly in front of him. She stared up at him defiantly, daring him to sneer or say something cruel to her. When he did not, the corners of her lips twitched up and she gently touched his shoulder before trailing her warm fingers down his arm to his hand and giving it a squeeze on her way out. 

“I’ll be seeing you, Malfoy,” she called over her shoulder as she walked down the hall. He stared after her, long after she disappeared from sight.

Draco allowed himself a moment of near-giddiness. He had never expected such a thing to happen, and suddenly, organically, wonderfully, it _had_ , and it had been even more incredible than he had imagined. He understood now that there was no way of getting Hermione Granger out of his system, and quite frankly, he didn’t want to. She was magnificent. Exquisite, really – she was perfect. This evening was perfect. He felt lighter and more alive than he had in months. He would do whatever he could to experience that again, to experience _her_ again. Nothing would stop him. He would endure the Dark Lord torturing him for hours, days, weeks on end if he had to.

Suddenly, the bitter, shivering cold he had felt before he had found Hermione in the kitchen solidified in his stomach. There was no way he could have this – have her – again. He would have to double down on his Occlumency, not only to protect himself and his mother, but to protect Hermione as well. What had he done? What danger had he put them all in? His mind clouded with panic before focusing sharply on one thing.

Ultimately, Draco realized with a wry, twisted grimace, he had been – and would continually be – incredibly screwed.

  
  



End file.
